Chapter 55 – The Former Water Hashira
Under the pale moonlight, a white-haired man wearing a red tengu mask quietly emerged from the shadows.
That man was Sakonji Urokodaki—the former Water Hashira, mentor to countless Demon Slayers, and the master who once trained both Giyu Tomioka and Tanjiro Kamado.
The forest fell silent at his arrival. The leaves rustled gently in the wind, whispering softly like they, too, were holding their breath.
A few seconds passed in stillness before the old man raised his head. Behind the long nose of his mask, a sharp glint flickered in his eyes.
"So, you're the new Hashira… 'Void Hashira,' was it? Hikaru?"
His deep, rasping voice broke the silence.
Nezuko, who was standing beside Hikaru, instinctively stepped back. Her hand gripped the edge of his haori as she half-hid behind him.
"…That's right," Hikaru replied, calm as ever. The Kasugai Crow perched on his shoulder stared at the old man, its crimson eyes unblinking.
"I'm guessing… you already got the message."
"I did."
Urokodaki gave a small nod. His voice remained low and unreadable. With his face concealed behind the mask, it was impossible to gauge his emotions.
But Hikaru could sense it.
From his posture. From his presence.
This man… had a spirit like stone. Unshakable.
"I've received the report," Urokodaki said firmly. "But that doesn't mean I'll agree to your request."
The wind blew again, tugging at his short white hair.
"Tanjiro is my student. And right now… he's not ready for the Final Selection."
"I won't send him off to die."
"…Unless, of course, you can prove yourself."
His tone was unwavering. No hesitation.
"In the Demon Slayer Corps, we're forbidden from turning our blades on each other… But in this case, if I have to bend that rule—"
The rest of his words were swept away by the breeze.
Hikaru offered a faint smile.
"I figured you'd say that."
He stared at the old man without fear. Just by looking at his stance, the way he spoke, Hikaru could tell—this was someone stubborn. Someone loyal to his principles.
No amount of talk was going to change his mind.
Sakonji Urokodaki wasn't just some retired swordsman. He was a former Hashira. A man who'd slain countless demons, overcome more battles than one could count. His resolve wasn't something that could be swayed by words alone.
And so—if words failed…
They would speak with their swords.
In the Demon Slayer Corps, the blade is everything. And the Hashira—were the ones who stood at the very peak of that strength.
Real swordsmen believed in one thing above all:
The sword never lies.
"…Hikaru-san…"
Nezuko's voice was soft, filled with worry.
Hikaru turned and gave her a gentle smile.
"Just wait here, alright? You'll be reunited with your brother soon."
He turned back to face Urokodaki.
"…Brother, huh?" the old man muttered. "So, she's Tanjiro's little sister?"
Urokodaki straightened his back and slowly reached for the hilt of his Nichirin Blade.
As he drew it partway from its sheath, the moonlight caught on the blade—gleaming like running water.
"Confidence is a good thing… but don't forget humility, kid."
His voice grew heavier. His presence, sharper.
Hikaru calmly pushed the guard on his sheath aside with his thumb.
"…Shouldn't we also respect those younger than us, Urokodaki-san?"
The air tightened around them like drawn strings.
The next moment—
Urokodaki vanished.
Hikaru's eyes narrowed.
Then he dropped his stance.
"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash!"
A horizontal slash sliced the air above his head. The motion was smooth yet vicious—like a splash of cold water erupting from nowhere.
A blade whooshed past, grazing the tips of his hair.
The masked man's attack had come in fast. Silent.
Too fast for a man his age.
"His speed is no joke… and his footwork's almost completely silent."
"…Just as I thought. Letting my guard down even a little would be fatal."
Hikaru raised his gaze.
In that instant—
Another slash was already coming.
From the side!
Urokodaki's blade curved through the air, drawing a tight arc downward.
"Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel!"
A spiraling cut, fast and relentless, rushed toward him like a crashing tide.
Urokodaki might've doubted him with words, but in battle—he held nothing back.
That was the mark of a real swordsman.
Once the fight begins, you fight with everything you've got.
But Hikaru didn't flinch.
He saw it—a gap.
A brief moment, a tiny opening, right when Urokodaki was shifting between forms.
That was all he needed.
Mist splashed outward as the attack closed in.
Hikaru gripped his sheath tight.
With a single motion, he unsheathed his blade.
He stepped forward.
"Void Breathing, First Form: Mirror Reversal."
Like a ripple spreading across glass, light shimmered outward from his sword in all directions.
The spinning slash of the Water Wheel clashed against it—head-on.
A sharp crack echoed through the forest as steel met steel.
Urokodaki's eyes widened behind the mask.
He hadn't expected that.
But at the moment of impact—he felt it.
From Hikaru's Breathing Technique… from the flow of his body…
There it was.
A flaw.
A minor gap in his rhythm.
"Then I'll end this in one blow!"
Urokodaki shifted.
"Water Breathing, Third Form—"
His sword began to flow into the next motion.
Water gathered. His pressure spiked.
But before the technique could finish—
"Void Breathing, Second Form: Crystal Heart!"
A flash.
Hikaru's blade condensed into a sharp, glittering point—and pierced through the center of the swirling water.
The ripples shattered.
The current collapsed.
Silence fell.
Urokodaki's breath caught in his throat.
Hikaru's blade had stopped.
Just a palm's width from his neck.
And his own sword?
Still only halfway up.
"…I win," Hikaru whispered softly.
Then he stepped back and gave a small, respectful bow.
"Sakonji Urokodaki-san."
The old man was silent.
Then, at last, he lowered his blade and let out a long sigh.
"…I've lost. Your form transitions are faster than anyone I've ever seen."
It wasn't a shameful defeat.
Even without overwhelming speed, Hikaru's flow between techniques was seamless.
Effortless.
Every strike connected into the next with zero wasted motion.
"…And you held back, didn't you?"
Urokodaki's voice grew quiet.
"You didn't use that ability—the one that messes with perception."
Mirror Flower, Water Moon.
The illusion-based technique Hikaru had used earlier that night.
He hadn't used it even once in this duel.
"Urokodaki-san… you're not young anymore," Hikaru said gently. "If this were years ago, when you were at your peak… maybe the result would've been different."
It wasn't flattery.
Just truth.
Even the strongest human eventually slows with age.
And Hikaru could feel it—Urokodaki's sharpness had dulled just slightly. His precision… faded by time.
"Still, I lost."
Urokodaki nodded.
He turned around, lifting a hand.
"…Come in."
"You've proven yourself. As promised…"
"I'll entrust Tanjiro to you."
"But remember this."
"If you fail to make him stronger… I won't let him take even one step toward Final Selection."
The old swordsman walked slowly back into the shadows, the moon casting a long silhouette behind him.
Hikaru let out a breath and slid his sword back into its sheath.
He turned to Nezuko and smiled gently.
"Let's go."
Nezuko, still stunned from the clash she'd just witnessed, nodded slowly.
Neither of them said anything about the rules of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Because…
There was no one else around to enforce them, right?
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